


a little lonely in this tore up town

by lanyon



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Consent Issues, Deus Ex Machina, Identity Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which James is the Winter Soldier and has many encounters with Captain America, in many cities, and all the while, neither of them are aware of his true identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little lonely in this tore up town

**Author's Note:**

> + **warnings** for consent issues arising from the fact that neither bucky nor steve know bucky's true identity.  
>  +requires **suspension of belief** for the fact that the winter soldier cavorts around in a domino mask and no one thinks this is particularly strange or noteworthy and, most of all, steve fails to recognise who he is.  
>  +written for [this prompt](http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org/307.html?thread=564531#cmt564531) at the Steve/Bucky Prompt Meme.  
> +written for everyone who needs a lift right now. ♥  
> +title from gin wigmore's _sweet hell_

It begins in Vancouver, where the good Captain is on vacation but there is no rest for the wicked and the Convention Centre is full of wicked men. James checks into the Fairmont, his sights trained on the comings and goings, and he sees his mark on the first day. Satisfied that he will make the kill, he folds away his rifle and goes down to the bar. 

“You here for the skiing?” asks the barman and James grins. 

“No, business, unfortunately.” 

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Who is?”

James and the barman laugh and he carries his bourbon to one of the comfortable seats, where he can watch the main doors. 

That’s when the good Captain walks in. There’s a flicker of recognition on James’ part; he’s never see the Captain before, not in the flesh. He’s only ever seen him in yellowing photographs and classified files. The Captain doesn’t even look his way. 

It’s only two days later, in Stanley Park, when James is on the run and the Captain is out for a run that they collide. 

“Only the guilty run,” says the Captain, strong-arming James face first into a tree.

James spits out bark. “You were running.”

“Never said I was innocent but I ain’t wearing a mask in public.”

“Makes a change, Captain Rogers.” James can feel the Captain stiffen behind him. “I wouldn’t try-” 

The Captain’s fingers still on his eyemask.

“It’s rigged, or so they tell me,” says James. “I try’n pull it off and I’ll never model hats again.”

The Captain laughs, though James doubts he means to. “Are you guilty-?”

“As sin,” says James, promptly. “So I gotta go where they send me.”

“Who’s they?” asks the Captain. “Who are you?”

“James,” says James, figuring it can’t hurt. There’s no trigger to stop him saying the word, nothing to rip out his tongue and throat. The Captain turns him around and there’s a knot, now, digging into the small of James’ back. 

“James what?” asks the Captain. His knee is between James’ thighs and they’re barely off the path. James doubts they taught this in American hero class.

“Nah, pal, that’s all you’re getting from me.”

(Well, not all, as James surges forward to kiss the Captain, groaning into his mouth at the pressure on his groin.)

“Not here,” says the Captain. 

(Not here turns out to be some condo on the waterfront that the Captain’s renting. The light’s good, he says, for painting. The light’s good, he says, when he’s not biting down on James’ lower lip and fucking him into the mattress, while a man lies dead outside the Convention Centre and it’s believed to be the work of the notorious Russian assassin, the Winter Soldier.)

The manhunt passes them by. A police officer knocks on the door when James is in the shower and he steps out, naked and brazen and wet, rubbing at his hair with a fluffy towel and hiding his eyemask from view. The police officer stutters an apology. 

“You’re shameless,” says the Captain, once he’s closed the door. James sinks to his knees and blows him.

.

His employers (his captors) want to know how he avoided detection in Vancouver. He says nothing. The Captain is his. He is commended for a job well done. He comes to understand that this is part of a sabotage mission. Neo-HYDRA militants want to raise Red Skull and James doesn’t know why that unsettles him so much. HYDRA was long before his time, after all.

.

There is an artefact in Tsarskoye Selo, at the Catherine Palace. It is a novelty for James; he is sent on a retrieval mission. With a wide-brimmed hat dipped low over his brow, he looks like any other tourist, if a little more eccentric. 

The Captain is here. He is not so practised at covert ops; that much is clear. He is clutching a sketchpad and his NYC t-shirt is stretched nicely over his broad chest and shoulders. 

“The Red Army liberated the town and the Palace in January 1944, but the damage had already been done by the Germans.”

“Story of our lives, no, Captain Rogers?” asks James.

The Captain starts. “What are you- No, no,” he says, evidently communicating with some member of his team. He frowns at James and it is glorious. 

“There is a pavilion on an island here,” says James. “They say that Catherine the Great kept a lover there. They say she kept lovers everywhere.”

The Captain lets out a low rumble of displeasure. Interesting that he won’t risk engaging with James when his team can hear. 

(The artefact is in the Amber Room but there is a public bathroom and there is a certain delight in committing one more crime here, as the Captain’s teeth sink into the side of his neck, their moans stifled.)

.

He does wonder how the Captain explains it, later. HYDRA did not get the artefact, at least. James is commended by his employers (his captors) for a job well done. 

.

There is another artefact in London, under the latest installation on the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square. It is like a treasure trail or a scavenger hunt. There is a madcap chase up Charing Cross road and into a secondhand bookstore. 

James presses the Captain against a dusty bookshelf. The proprietor doesn’t seem to notice that he has customers, much less two who are gazing at each other intently. 

“Your mask,” breathes the Captain. 

“Stays where it is,” says James, tugging down on the brim of his baseball cap.

The Captain sighs and pushes some of James’ hair behind his ear. 

“The artefact,” says James.

“Stays where it is,” says the Captain.

“With _your_ operatives?” James rolls his eyes. “Because they have such a good track record when it comes to HYDRA devices.” 

The Captain’s shoulders slump. “Tell me about it,” he says, softly. 

“Can I help you boys?” Ah. The proprietor is not so oblivious as James had thought. 

“No, sir, thank you,” says James, his hand dropping down to the Captain’s hip. “I think we’ve found it -” He plucks a book from the shelf next to the Captain’s head. “The, uh. The Official Guide to Railways, 1957.” 

“Where are you staying?” asks the Captain while James pays for his latest acquisition. Grudgingly.

“A place by the Palace,” says James. “Five star. Lots of chandeliers.” He looks sideways at the Captain. 

“Sounds expensive,” says the Captain. 

“Get a room,” says the proprietor.

(James has a room. He has a suite of rooms and he spreads the Captain out on crisp white sheets and tastes the skin over his collarbones and in the hollows of his hips and along the vein on the underside of his dick and then he rides him, hard and punishing, until they are both sweating and pleading with all the gods, or none, for release. James likes the way the Captain gasps out his name, like it is the one true word, like it is worth more than artefacts.)

.

Thor Odinson is an impressive specimen, even from a distance. Even on a glacier, he is impressive. The trail has led them to Iceland and James doesn’t know how many interested parties are here. 

“Did you ever see _The Mummy_?” he asks the Captain, sidling up next to him.

The Captain looks pale and exhausted. It has been months since London. He shakes his head. “I think it’s on the list,” he says. “There are lists for everything that I do not know.”

“I reckon you know a lot,” says James. He reckons the Captain knows more than James does but that’s not hard when James’ memories start two years ago. He is aware of the Winter Soldier and he is aware that it is his codename. He knows more, perhaps, than his employers (his captors) would like. He know that the cryogenic chamber malfunctioned eighteen months ago and that they are taking their chances with him being awake for so long. He doesn’t know his birthday, or his family, but he knows his type, tall and tired and wan beside him. “So, _The Mummy_ ’s got all of these guys racing to be the first to this, like, archaeological site and they’re all racing there on horseback, Indiana Jones-style and, I mean, it’s a total shitstorm with magic books and sandstorms and really ugly mummies but- it reminds me of this.”

The Captain is staring at him like he’s speaking another language but there is a softening around his eyes, like maybe he’s amused. 

“But with less sand,” mumbles James. “And more snow.”

He wish he knew what it was about the Captain that makes him feel human.

“This is the last artefact,” says the Captain. “The one that HYDRA needs, more than all the others. Thor says it’s a restorative. Who do you work for?”

James blinks. “Okay, Captain Non-sequitur. Where’s this coming from?”

“The Winter Soldier.” The Captain’s voice wavers a bit. “You’re - you’re-”

“A killer?” says James. He feels less human now. “We can’t all be heroes for hire, Captain.”

“I thought you were-”

“A good guy? I never said I was good, Cap.”

The Captain runs his gloved hand through his hair where tiny flakes of snow have started to settle, glinting silver against gold. “I’d hoped -”

“‘course you did. You always look for the best in people.”

“You know that? That’s what you know?”

James curls his fingers around the Captain’s wrist. “Come on, come with me.”

It’s getting dark when they make their way up onto a rise. They can see the lights at the excavation site and James thinks that rumble is Thor’s laughter, or maybe it’s thunder, or both. 

“The northern lights,” says James. “They’re pretty consistent this time of year.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” At least the Captain’s still talking to him. 

“I read,” says James.

“About railways, if I recall,” says the Captain. 

They both laugh and turn to each other. 

“Too cold to fuck in the snow,” says James. “No Winter Soldier jokes, please.”

The Captain’s face darkens and James realises belatedly that it is no laughing matter. 

There is a crash from the site and a chorus of shouts and the Captain is briefly distracted. Those are not the northern lights but that strange blue glow looks familiar. It unsettles James and he is never unsettled.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger,” says the Captain, his voice strange now and his face is bathed in blue light.

 _Danger, I am danger_ , James thinks, and the good Captain should know it. His skin itches, at the edge of the mask that he can’t remove. The good Captain’s fingertips linger too close. 

“No,” says James. “No, you know what’ll happen.”

“I don’t,” says the Captain, softly and urgently. “No one does. I talked to Tony-”

“You told Iron Man about us?” asks James, flinching away. 

“No,” says the Captain. “I-” He frowns. 

All is blue. James remembers. These are not the northern lights.

(Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes; подпра́порщик; but you’re keeping the tights; the Captain, the _Captain_ ) 

“Steve?” he asks, his voice somehow trembling on that single syllable (that one true word, worth more than artefacts). He fumbles off the facemask; there can be no trigger now and there was nothing that can be more incendiary than a name.

“ _Steve._ ”  
.

It is New York. The last remaining artefact has been secreted away to Asgard, leaving HYDRA mooks shaking their fists at a thundercloud-laden sky. 

“The house talks,” says Bucky. 

“You get used to it,” says Steve. His fingers creep across the white sheets to Bucky’s hand and he is blushing, as well he might. “Say, Buck?”

“Yessir?”

“Wanna come watch a movie with me? Seems like I’ve some catching up to do.”


End file.
